


settle down, lightning blood

by LightningRidgeBlackOpal



Series: Proverbs [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Casual Relationship - Eugene Lee Yang/Ryan Bergara, Casual Sex, Drinking, Drug use - Marijuana, Excessive references to music, Fingering, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Punk AU, Theft out of necessity/Food theft/Stealing, Trans Male Character, Trans Ryan Bergara, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 12:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20446919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningRidgeBlackOpal/pseuds/LightningRidgeBlackOpal
Summary: To understand a proverb, and the interpretation; the words of the wise, and their dark sayings.- Proverbs 1:6My faith burnt every house / Like no other manger / I am emptier with doubt.- Vermicide, The Mars Volta





	settle down, lightning blood

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh well here it is! 
> 
> First off, huge shout out to @Kaya4114 and @matterbaby for looking this over and beta reading and editing and offering advice and letting me scream at them about this over the last few days. Also my roommate for letting me yell about it. Also @abovetheruins for letting me yell about it. Basically thank you to everyone!
> 
> Also, thanks again to @Kaya4114 for making some amazing cover art for this story!
> 
> Spotify Playlist of songs mentioned: [settle down, lightning blood](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3qiVjYh0r09xzZ8IAcqQNs?si=OjfyIxxDQCOFtQ_29cs5Ow)

He throws the door open and takes off running. "Fuck you, asshole!" the worker yells after him. His heavy boots thunk along the sidewalk as he runs, lungs burning and heart racing and the thrill of it wild under his skin. His jacket is stuffed full and jangling like Santa's sack of toys. The wind toussels his hair; he's overdue for a haircut. He cuts through the park when he hears sirens. He knows this city better than they ever will.

He walks back into the apartment and starts emptying his pockets, bags of chips and some chocolate and canned goods (which he stacks to the side) and some pasta (with the cans) and even a frozen pack of ground beef. An actual dinner, for once, plus all the bullshit that the guys will want. He moves the dinner stuff into the kitchen, leaving the junk on the table in front of the ratty old couch. The door opens and he hears a cheer, can hear boots stomping on the wood floors and bags of treats being torn open.

"Nice haul, dude," Eugene says from behind him. He just shrugs, continuing to organize things for dinner as best as he can in the mess. “Serious, that must have been some boost.”

Ryan turns to face him, leaning back against the counter. He's still shaking with the adrenaline of it. "It was," he says, "but we can't do this forever. One of us'll get caught eventually." Eugene nods. He's known Eugene the longest of anyone, years and years, before he went to college and then dropped out. "Now help me out with dinner before I have to head to work," he says.

They're laughing. Ryan's filling up a pot with water while Eugene works on the sauce. Spaghetti stretches far, and they can cut the leftovers with more sauce from the dollar store to stretch it further.

***

He leans forward against the counter, bracing himself on his elbows so he can take his weight off his feet for a second. He looks up from the black surface and sees his manager. "Ryan, my man," they say. Ryan straightens up. Mika is tall, so even with Ryan’s back straight he has to look up to meet their eye. "I was hoping you could stay a little late tonight. I've got a proposition for you."

Ryan nods, sighing and leaning forward again as they turn their back. He's on the seventh hour of an eight hour shift. It's almost time to close, but there's a migraine building up behind his eyes. He sighs again, pressing his thumbs against his temples and leaning on his elbows.

Le Jazz Haus is an interesting place to work; half record store and half bar, a clientele that can only be described as eclectic, and a serious lack of involvement from the owners. If Mika wasn’t his manager he would have walked months ago, but it pays well enough and at least a few of the employees are worth knowing and he rarely has to deal with the drunks so he sticks around.

When he’s done dealing with his headache (for now), he grabs a rag and starts wiping down the counter, hoping that against all odds he won’t get any customers or, at least, have any problems in the next hour or so. He can barely finish counting out one of the tills before a guy comes up with a vinyl clutched in his fists. His hair is buzzed short, and he’s tall as fuck, and he has shiny black plugs in his ears.

“_Mirror Reaper_, huh? Pretty sick album,” Ryan says. The guy grins. His smile is mysterious in some way, almost fae. He scans the tag and looks expectantly.

“Yeah,” he says, “Bell Witch is awesome. Can’t wait to hear it on vinyl.” He hands over a twenty and Ryan curses himself when he remembers that he just counted out the till he’s standing at. “Oh, sorry. Is the other one still open?” the guy asks, pointing toward the left. Ryan nods, cancelling out the transaction and walking over to the other register; the guy shadows him from across the counter.

“Sorry about that, it’s been quite a night,” Ryan says, but the guy waves it off.

“No worries. I’m in no rush. Shane, by the way.” He reaches his hand out and Ryan takes it. Big hands, long arms. Ryan takes his hand back, gesturing vaguely towards his name tag, and hands over the change. “Well, hope you get off soon,” Shane says, winking. Ryan laughs, and when he opens his eyes again he’s already walking away, vinyl tucked under his arm. His jeans have rips all over them, and through one Ryan can see a bit of his pale thigh and the sharp black line of his underwear. He finds himself staring.

By the time he’s finished counting out both tills and made his way over to the bar side of the building to help clean up, he’s almost forgotten about Mika wanting to see him. He heads back to their office and knocks on the door. “Yo,” he hears them say from inside. Mika sweeps their curly hair out of their eyes and grins. “Ryan, just the man I wanted to see. Have a seat.” 

Ryan does, one hand rising up to toy with the shaved hair at the side of his head. "So," Mika says, "you've been doing great here. You're probably the only employee I've had who hasn't tried to steal from me or fight customers. I want to offer you a promotion."

He sits up straighter, his hand dropping to his lap. "Oh, wow. That's awesome Mika, thanks."

Mika smiles, "of course, Ryan. You're a hard worker. And you're great with the music sales. You really know your stuff. It's quite a raise, so even with less hours a week it more than makes up for the difference. I'll set up a time for Shou to train you on the paperwork shit, and draw up a contract over the weekend. That is, if you're down for it."

He nods, says, "of course. I won't let you down."

Mika shrugs. "You haven't yet, dude. See you Monday." They wave him off, turning back to the computer screen where it looks like they've been crunching numbers for hours. Ryan knows better than to overstay his welcome, so he heads home to enjoy his weekend.

***

Saturday morning he wakes up with a migraine; a heavy thudding bassline pounding in his skull on repeat and echoing off of all the tiny bones in his ears. He rolls over, tries to go back to sleep, but he’s intimately aware of Eugene’s presence in the bed and he can hear Steven and Andrew laughing in the kitchen. He gets up instead, bleary eyed and exhausted, and strips off his clothes in the bathroom. He stands for a moment, letting the cool air chill him and shock goosebumps up along his arms and legs. He leans in toward the mirror and looks at the light stubble on his chin and along his jaw; the hint of a shadow over his lip. He stares at his own face and tries to remember how he looked before.

He shakes off the thought, tosses it aside, and steps into the shower. The sides of his head are growing out again, he’ll have to shave them back down before Monday. He works the soap over himself, and lets his hands linger between his legs, running through the thick, curly hair and teasing at himself.

When he gets out of the shower, his head feels marginally better. He reaches into his drawer and pulls out his meds, filling a new syringe and pressing it against the side of his stomach. He takes a deep breath and pushes, feels it puncture, and presses down the plunger. T usually makes him feel better, gives him more energy. It quiets the ghosts down, wailing about in the attic of his mind; chases the demons out to play in the yard for the afternoon. He bandages the spot of red, lets his eyes wander over his body again. “I like my broad shoulders,” he says. His therapist, when he was seeing her, told him to try to come up with three things he likes about his body. “I like how strong my arms look,” he says, “and I like the colour of my eyes.”

His reflection doesn’t have anything else to add, so he pulls on some clean underwear, slips into his binder, and heads back out into the hall.

“You’re up early,” Andrew says when he glances over from the kitchen. There are seven bowls lined up along the counter, boxes of cereal like a wall. Seven spoons. “How was work, dude?”

Ryan shrugs, walks into the kitchen to join them and pours cereal into his bowl and grabs a spoon. Steven’s head is in the fridge, and without looking back he holds out the almond milk to Ryan. “I got offered a promotion,” Ryan answers while he pours the milk. He takes a bite so he doesn’t have to say anything else for a minute while Andrew pumps his fist and Steven straightens up to toss him a grin.

“Way to go, Ry,” Steven says. He grabs his bowl, and the three of them stand in the kitchen and eat their cereal, waiting for everyone else to wake up.

The raise will help with rent. Take some of the strain off of him and Eugene and Steven. Seven people in a three bedroom, splitting rent three ways; seven breakfasts and dinners; boosting anything they can to try to help. It’s been rough. Better than the streets; but how can he enjoy it when there’s always that risk hanging above him like a sword of Damocles? A huge blade, glinting in the sunlight, rocking back and forth like a pendulum. They can’t keep it up, they can’t keep stealing. The risk is too great. So Ryan works two jobs and Eugene works full time and performs on the weekends and Steven is working part time. But with most of them dropouts, most of them with records or warrants or evictions, it’s an endless uphill climb.

Damocles, Sisyphus; Ryan wishes he’d stayed in school and finished that degree.

It’s hot, already, barely midmorning. This afternoon will be Hell. He collapses back onto his bed, ready to lay back and rest his eyes, see if he can’t shake off the last remaining echoes of that headache. The T has him feeling better already. He tries not to move too much but eventually he must bother Eugene because he groans into the pillow and turns to look at him.

“‘S too early,” he says, Ryan just nods his head in agreement and hums. “How goes, Ry?” he mumbles, stretching into a yawn that sends the sheet down to pool at his waist. He still has glitter on his eyes, on his chest; dark smudges of eyeliner left behind. There’s a fuchsia stain on the pillow; lipstick.

“It goes,” Ryan answers, “got a promotion. Got a bunch of damn kids living with me. Business as usual. How’d the show go, Gene?”

“Good. Pile of tips on the dresser I think, maybe on the floor. Sugar Bitxh bought me a few drinks again. Some dude bought me shots. Don’t wanna be awake right now.” He gets up, though, walking nude toward the bathroom.

_Maybe I’ll take a nap_, Ryan thinks. Then, he remembers the guy from last night at the store. He thinks about putting on some Bell Witch, but he imagines Shane there, relaxing listening to the vinyl he bought. He thinks about the holes in his jeans and the pale skin and his short buzzed hair and that shocking sharp line of black, tight around his ass. His hand slips down, along his stomach, and dips into his boxers. Maybe the nap can wait.

***

Saturday night is vibrant. A huge house party, the walls thumping like his heart in his chest and a bottle of beer frigid in his fingers fresh from the fridge, clouding up and sweating in the heat. He makes his way out to the back porch, finds Sara and Jen and TJ lighting up a blunt and joins them.

“Having fun?” Sara asks. There’s something airy and musical in her voice, like maybe she knows a secret. She always sounds like that; a mystery that hangs over her like a cape of fog. Ryan just holds up his beer and tilts his head. He takes a long drink of it, then sets it on the whitewashed wood so he can take the blunt from Jen. He inhales, the burn of it in his throat bringing him back into himself a bit. He exhales and then the door opens behind him.

Some girl walks by, talking excitedly to a tall guy with a buzz cut. He doesn’t even have to turn before Ryan recognizes him, but he does glance over and he winks at Ryan. They walk a bit off into the yard and she laughs when Shane pulls out a knife to stab into their beer cans, cracking hers open and handing it over before he does the same and raises his own to his mouth. He shotguns quickly, some of the beer dribbling down his chin. Ryan watches the rivulets run down his neck and down below the fabric of his tank top.

“Hello, Ry. Wake up, dude!” TJ says, clearly having asked him something. He realizes he’s been staring and turns away from them, grabbing the blunt again when Jen holds it out. “Who’s that?” TJ asks.

Ryan shrugs. Jen says, “I think his name’s Sam or something. I bought some weed from him.”

“Shane,” Ryan corrects. “He was at The Jazz last night. He sold you this shit?” Jen nods. “Well damn, I might have to get to know him better.”

They laugh. Sara says, “yeah, because he sells weed. No other reason.” Ryan flips her off. He gets up, grabbing his beer from the deck, and walks out into the yard. The blonde girl walks by him, but Shane is staring up at the sky.

“Hey dude,” Ryan says. Shane startles, looks away from the overcast sky. “Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you.” Shane shrugs.

“That’s alright. I love surprises. What brings you out tonight?” he asks. Ryan holds up his beer, offering it forward for a cheers. Shane pulls a can out of his pocket and taps it against his bottle

“Heard there was a party. Have the night off. Pretty simple math,” he says. Shane laughs.

“I’ve never been good at math. Also not great at big parties,” Shane says. It doesn’t show; Shane’s the definition of relaxed, at least ostensibly. His shoulders are loose and there’s a smile in the angle of his mouth the whole time. “Thinking about getting out of here, actually. I was, at least.” There’s a rasp in his voice; Ryan wants to listen to him for hours, wants to run his hands over Shane’s short hair, wants to taste the smoke on his pink lips, wants to feel his stubble against his thighs.

“What did you have in mind?” Ryan asks. Shane shrugs.

“Putting on some records and getting high as fuck at home instead of fighting my way through a crowd to take a piss.”

Ryan grins. “Well, if you want some company…” he offers. Shane tilts his head, like he’s confused or surprised or didn’t expect that. Truth be told Ryan isn’t usually this forward, but he’s been thinking about Shane all day and now here he is in front of him.

“Sure thing,” Shane says. “It’s not too far if you’re down for a walk.”

As the thudding baseline fades behind them, Shane pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it. He takes a deep drag and Ryan watches his cheeks hollowing while he does. When Shane opens his eyes he snaps his attention back to the sidewalk. “So, you new in town?" he asks. He doesn't look over but he can feel Shane's eyes on him. “I just haven’t seen you around before.” Shane takes another drag of his cigarette and holds it over to Ryan. He mostly quit smoking -- it can fuck with his hormones -- but the occasional indulgence is fine. He takes a drag.

“Guess so. I moved a couple months ago.” Ryan hands the cigarette back over. “I got into a bit of trouble back in Illinois. Thought I’d head somewhere a bit warmer at least.” Ryan wants to ask about what kind of trouble Shane got into. He wants to ask what it was like in Illinois, where in Illinois, what his family was like and what he could possibly have done to get in trouble. Instead he just walks along with him, stealing glances when he thinks he can get away with it.

He takes back the cigarette and takes a few more drags. “Well, Cali is definitely the place for warmer. Not sure if it’s gonna keep you outta trouble, though,” he says. Shane laughs.

“Who says I’m trying to keep outta trouble?”

Shane is living in a house that Ryan vaguely recognizes from some house shows and parties. He opens the door and a guy looks up from the couch.

"What's up asshole…" he says, and then seeing Ryan adds, "... and guest."

Shane laughs. "Keith, this is Ryan. He works at that cool record place I was telling you about." Keith stands, another tall guy, and walks over holding out his hand. Ryan takes it.

“Anyway,” Shane says, “if you see Zach and Ned let them know I’m busy and to fuck themselves. If they smoked all their weed they’ll just have to bother you for the night.” He turns to walk down the hall, and Ryan follows but glances back at Keith as he sits back down on the couch, tossing him a shy wave.

Shane’s room is simple, almost sparse but in a minimalist way. A big, soft looking mattress and boxspring on the floor; a big sturdy looking shelf packed with movies and books and records. A record player sitting on a desk across the room. Ryan can see the sleeve for _Mirror Reaper_ sitting on the desk. The walls and floor are all whitewashed, bare of decoration. Around the ceiling there’s a string of christmas lights, which casts the room into a kaleidoscope and gleams in Shane’s eyes and stains his shoulders in primary colours.

Shane gestures toward the bed, walking over to his desk and putting the record on. He opens a cabinet on the desk with a key and pulls out a pipe and a huge jar of weed. Ryan sits, watches while Shane stands at the desk and rolls a joint before grabbing the pipe and weed.

He joins him, lighting the joint and handing it over. “You want a beer or something? We might even have some whiskey left if Ned and Zach have been gone for a while.” Ryan shrugs, taking a deep drag and handing it over. “Sure,” he says. Shane pops out just as the opening notes of the syrupy, slow metal start filling the room. Ryan closes his eyes, enjoying the spacey noise of it, until he hears Shane walk back into the room and then press a cold beer against his arm. It makes him jump, nearly knocking the can out of Shane’s hand, and the two of them share a laugh.

Shane grabs the joint from him and takes another drag, letting the smoke rise from his mouth and pulling it back in his nose in a French inhale. Ryan pops the tab on his beer while watching Shane’s lips. His lips and his hands; it’s killing him. He wants to feel them all over his skin.

Ryan shivers, feels the atmosphere like a stifling heat in the room; maybe the room is hot, he can’t tell. He feels hot and cold at once, pulls his flannel off and lets it sit on the bed behind him, stretches back a bit and tugs at the hem to adjust his binder where it’s grown too tight on his ribs. His eyes are mostly closed, but through the dark shade of his eyelashes he can see Shane’s eyes on him, tracing down his chest and along his happy trail and the jut of his hips where his pants have slid down a bit, along the line of the waistband of his underwear. There’s a hunger in his eyes, he thinks, and it makes something unfurl molten and fluid in his gut.

“So,” Shane says, smoke slipping from between his lips, “forgive me if I’m being a bit forward but… I mean it’s just I noticed your binder.” He is being forward, but Ryan isn’t exactly in the business of secrets. An air of mystery, unanswered questions, half-answers and partial knowledge is different than keeping a secret. He shrugs. He isn’t planning on taking his pants off tonight, so the relevance is vague at best. “Sorry,” Shane starts but Ryan sits up straighter and meets his eye. He raises a hand and drops it on Shane’s shoulder.

“It’s cool dude, don’t worry about it. The binder keeps my chest flatter and that’s how I like it, so yeah. Wearing a binder.” It’s an answer, but not the one Shane wanted or expected. Ryan isn’t exactly interested in outing himself to everyone, least of all a handsome dealer who he’s just met. But still, something about his tone… nothing Shane has ever said has sounded judgemental or uncouth. He’s a cat; nine lives and eight of them lost to curiosity. Ryan is curious about him.

“Well anyway, you got any suggestions for what to listen to now?” Shane asks, changing the subject or accepting the answer or just moving on. He’s clever. Ryan stands up, crossing the room and looking at his collection.

Silverchair, Band of Skulls, The Horrors, Misfits, Silversun Pickups, Thrice; he's got eclectic taste. "I'm seeing an alarming amount of Talking Heads," Ryan teases. From behind him Shane huffs. He's not on the bed anymore, standing close by; Ryan feels the rush of air from his laugh against the back of his neck.

"Fuck off, dude. _Little Creatures_ is one of the best albums ever made."

Ryan doesn't argue, but he pulls a record out and slides it out of the sleeve. He sets it down and Shane hums approvingly, closer now. Sharp lines, white and black and red. He puts on _Coral Fang_ and turns around. Shane has a heady look in his eye, a bit of a glaze to it from the weed.

“Nice choice,” he says, while the sharp guitars start up. Brody Dalle’s rough voice pours out while the soft rhythm of the vinyl turning under the needle is swallowed up.

Ryan reaches out and grabs the pipe from Shane, taking a hit and blowing the smoke out toward his face. He laughs, grabbing for it.

They walk back over toward the bed but as the chorus hits Ryan can’t help but sing along, “_All my friends are murder, Hey all my bones no marrows in, All these fiends want teenage meat, All my friends are murderers…_” Shane looks at him, face unreadable.

“You’ve got a great voice,” he says and Ryan flushes. “Serious. You ever thought about being in a band?” He laughs at that, sitting roughly while Brody continues to serenade them with rage.

“Nah,” Ryan says. It’s tough, lately. To know what his voice can do or not. As the hormones affect him his range shifts and changes and it’s tough to keep up sometimes. “I’ve always loved singing, honestly, but…” he drifts off. He takes another hit, another sip of his beer, and as the song switches he sings along with her sandpaper voice. “_I fancy you, But I’ve been destitute…_” Shane sets the pipe on his bedside table and steps toward Ryan.

“I fancy you too,” he says. He could easily wink, play it off like a joke, but he doesn’t. Ryan closes his eyes. He can feel himself smiling. “And I really want to kiss you,” Shane continues.

Ryan opens his eyes, half-lidded, laid out like a sacrifice on Shane’s bed. He reaches up and grabs the front of Shane’s shirt, and he tugs him down to collapse upon him and kiss him hungrily. Brody Dalle screams, “_Dismantle me!_” and Shane takes him apart with his hands along his jaw and his lips on his lips.

***

He doesn't stay the night, as much as he wants to, but he stays long enough that when he leaves his lips are swollen and red and he has burn from the stubble on his neck and cheeks. The night air does wonders for sobering him up, and he makes his way downtown and into Flux, past the girls smoking out front, waving at Joe behind the bar, and towards the back of the club. The stage is set up simply, just a raised platform at one end of the dance floor, the tables and seats pushed back a bit. One of the performers is just finishing up and Sugar Bitxh walks out to give some commentary, and introduce the next performer.

“Get ready for something spicy, kids. Welcome to the stage Cheyenne Pepper!”

A cheer erupts and Ryan joins them. Eugene walks out; nine miles of legs and dangerous heels, huge curly hair that she flips out of her eyes. Her makeup is sharp and graphic, black and white, red lips like candy or blood. She sees Ryan in the audience and winks, and then the music starts.

She starts with a high kick that looks like it might topple her over and then rolls forward with the momentum into a tumble. As she pops back up onto her feet the crowd is cheering loud enough that the vocals get swallowed.

“_You're low, baby, low, so own your shit, Cause you done fucked up and you're scared of it, You better learn from a man who's afraid to dance, With a witch like me, in a wicked trance,_” the singer yells and Cheyenne is moving across the stage, jumping up into a spin that she lands in a split, making her way back up and jumping down off the stage to move into the crowd and start grabbing ones and fives from the crowd, gathering up the bills in her hand until she tosses them up and drops to the ground with the money raining down around her. The crowd is wild, screaming when she pulls stunts and enraptured when she pulls back to serve face. Every time he watches her it's amazing, like she’s a new person. She spins her way over to his table and grabs his shot, tossing it back when the vocal pauses. He laughs and she leans in to press a ruby stained kiss to his cheek.

The song ends as she drops to the ground, the crowd cheering and dropping more bills on her. One of the staff comes out to gather up the money all over the ground while Eugene walks off toward backstage. Ryan gets out of his seat, and hardly gets a step away before someone else falls into it. He meets Eugene by the bar, where he’s chugging a bottle of water. When he finishes he holds up two fingers to Joe and he pours two shots of vodka. Ryan holds his up for a cheers and Eugene clinks the other glass against it.

“Hell of a show, Chey,” Ryan says and he grins, dips into a curtsy.

“Where’ve you been all night?” Eugene asks. Ryan shrugs.

“Went to a party with the crew. Took off to hang out with some dude.” Eugene raises a perfectly painted eyebrow.

“Some dude?” he questions, but then he’s being called out again for curtain call. He holds up a finger, like saying “we’ll talk about this later” and “tell me all about it” and “be right back” all at once, and then tosses the huge wig out of his face again before strutting off.

When they get home Ryan has to practically toss Eugene into the shower, says, “if we keep having to bleach the makeup out of that pillow case it’s going to be ruined.”

Eugene drops his pants, faces Ryan unabashed. “Can’t look this beautiful without ruining a few pillow cases, Ry. Or some dude’s trousers. Speaking of ‘some dude’...” but Ryan just flips him off and walks out of the bathroom.

He’s stripped off his binder and is down to his boxers, almost asleep when Eugene comes into the room, flopping down onto the bed and sighing.

“So,” he says and Ryan groans.

“Just a guy who came by The Jazz yesterday. I saw him at the party and we decided to get out of there and… you know. It happens. We made out or whatever.”

“Just made out?” Eugene asks, teasing. Ryan rolls onto his side to face him.

“Yeah. I’m not trying to lose my eyeliner on, quote, some dude’s trousers, and I’m sure not trying to have some guy I met last night go down on me.”

Eugene chuckles and shoves at Ryan’s shoulder. He rolls easily onto his back, puts up no resistance. “How about a guy who isn’t always a guy who you met five years ago?” Ryan rolls his eyes, but holds an arm out so Eugene can slide over and rest against him. “You know I love you, right?” Eugene asks.

“Of course, Gene.” Eugene presses a kiss against his cheek, one against his neck. “Oh knock it off you absolute slut. I know you want this dick, but it’s late dude. I’m tired. I have a headache.”

Eugene laughs. “You want me to stop?” he asks. Ryan doesn’t answer at first so he pauses, his lips hovering near Ryan’s shoulder, near the smooth black lines of his half sleeve, his breath teasing. Ryan sighs. Truth be told, he doesn’t. He would have gone further with Shane usually, was definitely wet and wanting, but something held him back. Still, though, that itchy heat is still pooled deep down in his gut. Eugene and him have hooked up before, of course. No feelings, no strings, just some drunken fun occasionally. 

“Nah,” he says. “Knock yourself out.” Eugene grins against his shoulder, his lips moving back and his tongue tip teasing along the thin, delicate lines of the roses tattooed on his arm. He swings over to straddle Ryan, and he thinks about those long, long legs on stage; he thinks about those long, long legs wrapped around his waist. Eugene’s fingers trail down along his sides, making him arch his back and suck in a gasp.

“Oh, I’ll do more than knock myself out, baby. I’m gonna knock your socks off,” Eugene says, sliding down to press kisses to the jutting angles of Ryan’s hipbones and then right on his dick through his underwear. It twitches, sensitive from his T dose earlier, and he sighs. 

"You looked so fucking hot on stage," Ryan says. Eugene pulls his boxers down and the cold air against him where he's wet startles a moan from him. "Damn, Gene," he sighs, as the tip of his tongue teases at him. Eugene pulls back and runs his hands up Ryan's thighs, toying with his hair and running along the sides of his pussy. 

"You look beautiful right now." Eugene says, and then teases him again with his tongue. His hips try to buck of their own accord and Eugene presses them down, holds him tight to the bed. Another tease with his tongue has Ryan keening. He's wet already. He spreads his legs wider and Eugene shifts forward to fill the space left open. Ryan’s eyes close tight, and in the darkness he can see dancing colour and jagged shapes.

Eugene knows what he’s doing, starting soft and teasing and gradually getting messier and adding a couple fingers. He does something with his tongue that feels like he wraps it around Ryan’s dick and strokes and it surprises an orgasm out of him that he can’t even vocalize. “There we go,” Eugene says gently. His breath hits Ryan and against the slick slide of his cum and Eugene’s lips and tongue he’s close again already. “You should get out more, babe. You’re so wound up.” He stops talking and dives back in, messier and rougher and really going for it now that Ryan’s warmed up. Even though his hips are pinned down his back keeps arching and he’s pushing up against Eugene’s hand, pushing himself closer to his mouth. “Easy, easy, baby. Let me take care of you, stop trying to do all the work for once.”

Ryan laughs, then heaves a deep sigh. Eugene pulls back and rolls him over, running his hands along his back and massaging some of the tense muscles and tracing over a few of his tattoos again. He starts working out a knot in the muscles near his shoulders and then leans down, kissing the back of his neck, the side of his neck. Ryan turns his face from the pillow and to the side so Eugene can kiss him there. He finds his lips, and Ryan can taste himself on his friend’s tongue. It has the heat coiling tight again, feeling Eugene’s dick hard against his ass. He leans back up and rubs at Ryan’s shoulders some more. He moves down and bites at the swell of his ass. “Fuck,” Ryan says, and Gene laughs.

“You want to?” he jokes. Ryan doesn’t answer, too busy focusing on his fingers where they’re rubbing between his thighs and along his ass, over his hole, and down to the front.

Eugene dives back down, burying his face in the meat of Ryan’s ass and letting his tongue slip across both of his holes absently. His fingers slide into his pussy and he starts pumping them, crooking them back and forth and working them in and out. It has Ryan gasping, bucking back against the pressure, and when he shifts his leg to get it up and against Eugene’s crotch he feels how wet his friend is, the tip of his dick leaving a trail of slick precum on his calf. Eugene works another orgasm from him, messier than the first. Ryan can feel himself squirting, a flood that Eugene laps up. They’ll have to clean the sheets after this, but Ryan isn’t feeling very tired any more.

By the time Eugene tires himself out Ryan can hardly feel his legs. He feels worn out in a way he hasn’t in a long time, years maybe. He manages to drag Eugene forward and get his fist around his friend’s dick, toying with it and tugging and playing with his foreskin. Eugene is panting, obviously worked up from going down on him, and he finishes fast, cumming with a groan that he buries against Ryan’s neck.

The two of them lay side by side, panting on the bed, exhausted and feeling flushed and used. Then Eugene’s stomach growls and they share a laugh, Ryan pushing him up and out of the bed. “Get dressed. I’m fucking starving.” Ryan climbs out of the bed, admiring the damp stain taking up a large chunk of the middle, and pulls the sheets off to toss them in the laundry. He steps into some loose grey shorts and pulls on a big T shirt that probably used to belong to TJ or Andrew. Eugene grabs his arm and pulls him into an embrace, rocking with him in the middle of their room. “Love you, Ry,” he says. Ryan kisses his cheek, and then pushes him back. 

“Enough of this gay shit, I’m fucking hungry,” he says. They laugh all the way down the hall and into the kitchen. No one else seems to be home, probably still at the party, and they tease each other while Ryan makes grilled cheese and they eat leaned up against the counter.

***

Sunday is quiet, how Ryan likes it. He sits around in his underwear and reads in the living room while everyone jostles around and laughs and bickers. His little family, his friends orbiting around him where he's stuck still in his chair.

He glances up and the sun's gone down and he realizes how hungry he is, so he orders a few pizzas and justifies it with the fact that he just got a raise. When the guy comes to the door Eugene slaps a handful of crumpled ones into his hands and snatches the boxes away, carrying them into the kitchen like a chest full of treasure.

The whole gang around, all of the laughter and noise of it. It warms something in Ryan’s heart. It feels like springtime, like summer days by the lake, like an orchard. Full of life. He feels happiness, something that a few years ago he would have thought impossible. He can't fight the grin stretching at his cheeks, or the laugh that bubbles up out of him.

"What's got you so happy?" Andrew asks around a mouthful of pizza. Ryan shrugs.

"Just you idiots," he answers. The group boos him, laughing.

"Gay!" Sara yells, and they all laugh. It's all joy, it's all an orchard. This, Ryan thinks, is what he's stuck around for. For love, and for laughter, and for the way the evening light is fading in the kitchen and haloed around the heads of his family.

This is why he's still here.

***

Monday begins with loud music, blaring through the store. He's sweeping up and Jill is organizing the shelves and the hectic noise of The Mars Volta is filling him up. "_Glossolalia coats my skin, Glycerine and turbulence, Stuck a voice inside of God, Mirrors to the animals…_" he sings along, idly, while he switches the broom out for the mop. He's been singing more lately.

The store in order, his boss on his way, he cuts the music and steps out the back door. Peace and quiet, a moment alone in the alley. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slow through his nose. It's hard, it's a lot. Mornings at the corner store and nights at The Jazz, the constant stress of rent looming over him and the heavy swinging blade of terror that any one of them could be arrested for stupid shit they pull all the time.

The stress weighs him down, presses on his shoulders until they're tight and aggravated. He stretches, hears his shoulders and neck pop angrily, and heads back inside to make sure everything is in order.

By the time he leaves the store, ready to head home and try to relax before his shift at Le Jazz Haus, the sky has scabbed over with clouds and it’s raining. He hurries down the sidewalk, holding up one arm to try to keep the downpour out of his eyes. It’s a futile effort, and by the end of it he gives up running and has resigned himself to being soaked through. He pauses at a corner, waiting for the walk sign to flash on, when a car pulls up beside him. The window rolls down, and he looks in and sees Shane.

“Hop in,” he shouts against the noise of the rainfall on the roof. Ryan doesn’t need any convincing, rushes over and practically jumps through the window. “It’s really coming down out there, shit,” Shane says while he reaches down to turn the music down. It’s instrumental and moody; maybe Earth or something.

“Tell me about it,” Ryan replies. Shane cranks up the heat and Ryan leans forward desperately, holding out his hands and trying to will himself to dry off. “Thanks, dude.” Shane waves it off, pulling away from the curb, and continues driving.

He looks over a couple times, quick glances when he stops at red lights, but Ryan’s head feels cottony and he’s chilled from the abrupt change in temperature. It takes him a while to notice, but at one red light Shane just stares openly at him.

“You want me to drop you off at your place you’re gonna have to tell me where it is. Otherwise I’m just heading home.” Ryan laughs, realizing that he’s just jumped in and sat silent basically this whole time.

“Sorry, I’m a bit out of it. Yeah, my place is just over on 21st.” Shane nods, pulls forward as the light turns green, and takes a left at the next street. “What’re you listening to?” he asks and Shane shrugs.

“Earth, I think,” he says and Ryan laughs again.

“Thought so. What album?”

Shane just shrugs with one arm while checking his rear-view and merging over. He gestures loosely toward his phone where it sits in a cup holder at the end of a cord. Ryan picks it up and presses the power button and it lights up; the background image is of two hands intertwined to make a goat’s head. It looks hand drawn. At the top of the screen it says: **Earth - The Bees Made Honey In The Lion’s Skull**

“I don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” Ryan says, turning the music back up a little bit and leaning back in the seat. He feels warmed through, but still damp and uncomfortable. “Hope I’m not keeping you from anything,” Ryan says, “if you’re free you can totally chill for a while.” They’re not far from the apartment now, and Ryan pulls out his own phone to send a message to the family’s group text thread. _‘Please everyone put pants on - Eugene - might have a guest over.’_

“Sure. I was just on my way home, so don’t worry about that. You haven’t derailed me from any hot dates,” Shane jokes. Ryan laughs. He finds it easy to laugh around Shane, like he’s known him for a long time. There’s a comfort between them, something which surprises Ryan considering they made out and haven’t talked since. He parks outside after Ryan indicates which is his building, and they make their way up the stairs.

_Eugene: but i don’t want to wear pants…_  
_Andrew: Suck it up buttercup, daddy’s got a boy toy on the way_  
_Ryan: I hate all of you._

He jerks the key around in the door until the deadbolt finally slides out of the wall, tosses the door open, and hopes for the best. As it swings open it looks like Steven and Andrew are hastily sitting on the couch and trying to look like they weren’t just tidying up. Ryan kicks off his boots, trying to surreptitiously examine the rest of the room. Shane follows behind him, holding up a hand in a wave.

“Shane, that’s Andrew and Steven, I dunno how many of the gang are home but at least you get to meet the sane ones first,” Ryan says. The boys laugh from the couch, Steven walking over to shake Shane’s hand and Andrew waving from his seat.

“I resent that,” Eugene says from the hallway. He walks out shirtless with criminally tight leggings slung low on his hips.

“No, Eugene,” Steven says, “you resemble that.” Something must have caught Eugene’s attention, though, because he doesn’t even feign indignation. He walks up to Shane and obviously eyes him up and down, offering a hand like royalty.

“Eugene, I presume,” Shane says, playing along. Eugene curtsies. “Enchante,” Shane says.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Eugene says. Ryan rolls his eyes. He’s never minded when Eugene is like this, but at the moment the only thing on his mind is dry clothes and something to drink.

“Try not to kill my friend,” he says to the room, stepping toward the hallway. He turns to Shane, “I’m just gonna grab some dry clothes,” he says, and then turns to the boys on the couch, “maybe y’all wanna smoke a bowl or something? Entertain our guest?”

Shane dismisses it with a wave of his hand but Andrew is already holding up his bong. “Is that an ice catcher?” Shane says, and Ryan uses the moment to steal away to his room, shedding his shirt along the way and tossing it toward the hamper once he gets in. The door closes behind him.

“Is that the dude from Le Jazz?” Eugene asks, startling Ryan into a spin-and-tumble maneuver that nearly ends with him braining himself on the dresser.

“Jesus, Gene. Don’t sneak up on me like that. I might have to make you start wearing a bell like a fucking cat.” Eugene smirks, holding out a hand to help him up.

“Make me?” he questions. Ryan rolls his eyes. He pulls off his binder and tosses it toward the bed, undoing his pants one-handed while he rifles through the top drawer for some clean underwear. He comes up short and sighs. “I’ll do laundry while you’re at work. I meant to earlier but I kinda slept in,” he says. He sounds contrite, like he recognizes that he’s being difficult. Ryan shrugs.

“It’s no big deal. Sorry if I was snappy or whatever. It’s been a hell of a morning.” He gives up on the underwear and pulls out some socks instead, tossing them to the bed and opening another drawer to find some sweats. He tugs down his wet boxers, sighing once he’s finally free of them. “Boss stopped by the store today for an inspection so me and Jill had to do a clean sweep from top to bottom. And I was distracted since I’m supposed to start training as a supervisor at Le Jazz tonight.” He tugs on the sweats over his bare legs, stretches his back out a bit, and tugs on one of Eugene’s shirts, then sits on the bed to pull on his socks. Eugene is still standing by the door, looking a bit out of sorts. “What’s going on with you, Gene?” he asks.

Eugene doesn’t answer for a while, just stands there while Ryan finishes getting ready. When he walks over, though, Eugene says, “I dunno. I hate that you have to work yourself into the ground to keep this ship afloat. I hate seeing you so stressed.”

Ryan pulls him into a hug, holds him tight. “I know dude. But it won’t always be like this. You’ll see. We’re gonna figure something out. And you help a lot. You work and perform, Gene. We’re both wearing ourselves out now but it’ll all be worth it. I promise. We’re gonna make it, babe.”

Eugene smiles, and pulls back to open the door. As Ryan walks out, he pulls a long sweater over his head and lets it hang down like a dress. 

Andrew is laughing while Shane finishes up a story. He takes a rip from the bong and lets a huge cloud of smoke billow out into the room. He looks over though, when he sees Ryan on his way back out. It draws a smile from him, before he coughs roughly into his fist. He holds the piece over toward Ryan and he takes it, sliding in to sit on the end next to Shane. He doesn’t move further toward the middle, their legs pressed tight together. He blows the smoke out and then hands it over to Andrew. “So, I see you’re still among the living,” Ryan says. Shane shrugs.

“What can I say, I’m resilient.” When he lowers his arm from his shrug, his hand falls on Ryan’s knee. He can feel the span of his fingers, the weight of his palm. He leaves it there. “Anyway, I hear you got a promotion."

Eugene finally enters the room, setting a few fingers of whiskey in front of Ryan and sitting on the overstuffed chair across the room. Ryan thanks him, leans forward to grab the drink. The motion (or Shane seizing and opportunity) slides Shane's hand a bit further up his thigh, and he leaves it there. He takes a long drink from the glass and says, "I did indeed. Probably be there late doing paperwork all the time now."

In theory, if the raise is good enough, he could quit his second job and still cover his part of the rent. He'd rather not, though, and start saving up for his top surgery. He's been putting it off for years, always making excuses. "Well that's awesome," Shane says, and everyone cheers' him while he takes another rip from the bong. He has a few hours before work. He has the time to relax and to have fun and then to sober up after. He can sit here and enjoy the feeling of Shane’s hand on his leg; enjoy knowing that Shane is clearly into him and is giving him all the signs; he can enjoy the burn of the whiskey and the way his head feels like it’s floating from the weed. He can allow himself this.

He looks over and Eugene’s eyes are on him. They flicker down to his leg, and back, his face tilted into a smirk. Shane’s fingers shift, give his thigh a quick squeeze that sends heat through his body. He shifts so that he’s sitting closer, so that his right arm bends and his elbow is sitting right near the crotch of Shane’s jeans. It feels natural, like Shane has been here all along. He just fits into some of the jagged empty pieces so smoothly. They talk and bullshit for a while, and Ryan finishes off his whiskey and takes his last hit before he has to sober up and get ready for work again. He leans over and whispers in Shane’s ear, says, “follow me,” and then stands up. Shane shadows him down the hall.

As soon as he gets into his room and closes the door he backs Shane up against it. He grins, placing his hands on Ryan’s hips and then sliding them up his sides. “If you’re going to keep teasing me we might as well have some fun,” Ryan says. He reaches up to wrap his arms around Shane’s neck and pull him forward to kiss him. He leans forward as he does and can feel that Shane is already hard, the thick line of his dick pressing against Ryan’s hips. Shane’s arms slide down, along his back, and his big hands cup his ass, pulling them tighter together.

“You are unbelievable,” Shane says when he pulls back. “So fucking sexy.” He starts walking forward and Ryan echoes his footsteps, letting Shane lead like they’re dancing. His calves hit the bed and he drops back, pulling Shane down with him and laughing as they land. He looks up and Shane’s eyes are lit with fire, like flickering candlelight, burning with heat that he can feel on his cheeks. Shane kisses him again, teasing at his bottom lip with his teeth before pressing in more insistently. His hands, his big hands, run their way up his sides under his shirt; they reach his rib cage and spread at their zenith; his thumbs rub, calloused pads carefully tracing the lines just under his breasts where his scars will later raise up angry and bruised in triumph. Ryan moans out loud, reaching up again because his hands are drawn to the smooth skin of Shane’s back, the delicate line of his neck, the thick black band tattooed around his bicep. Shane tastes like coffee, and cinnamon, and whiskey a little from Ryan’s mouth.

He takes charge, rolling the two of them over and sitting firmly on Shane’s lap. He can feel how hard Shane is; he presses down hard enough that he can feel his dick twitch against his ass. “You want me bad, don’t you big guy.” Shane nods, his hips canting forward and obviously seeking friction. Ryan grinds down, wanton and brash with the heat of it. This is so unlike him. He’s rarely made quick friends at all; much less fallen into bed with someone within days. He takes time to open up, but now that Shane is underneath him he finds himself wild with it. He tosses his shirt off to the floor and Shane reaches up, toward his bare chest or his neck or his face; Ryan doesn’t find out his intention, instead grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand over, running his tongue along his index finger and then sucking on it. Shane bucks up again.

“Jesus christ, Ryan.” Shane says. His head lolls back and his eyes slip shut so Ryan ups the ante. He wants Shane’s eyes on him again, so he slides down to the floor, tugging Shane forward and then sliding his pants down so he can get at his dick. Once it’s in the air, resting against Shane’s stomach, the base of it hidden behind soft brown curls, he can see how big it really is. He kicks off his sweats. He likes a challenge, so he grips it tight with one hand and aims it upwards and slides straight down the length of it. His nose presses into Shane’s pubic hair and he sits bolt upright, shouting in surprise. He lets loose a string of swears that slips between at least two languages. If he weren’t otherwise occupied, Ryan would be grinning. Instead he pulls back, almost all the way, and teases the head of Shane’s cock with the piercing in his tongue while he hollows out his cheeks with suction. Shane’s hand is hovering just over the crown of Ryan’s head, like he isn’t sure what to do. Ryan pulls off his dick and shifts upward, presses his head up into Shane’s palm. When he moves back down Shane’s hand is pushing him. He goes easy at first, and Ryan starts getting impatient. One of his hands is toying with himself, but then he moves it up, reaching up to press his wet fingers into Shane’s mouth. He sucks on them messily, and presses harder, forcing Ryan to take more of him. He gags once, and the feeling of Shane’s dick stretching at his throat has him shaking, cumming down his legs.. “You are… Fucking… Ryan…” Shane seems incapable of forming a sentence. Ryan pushes against the weight of Shane’s grip on his head to pull off his dick entirely.

“You can’t cum yet,” he says, idly rubbing at Shane’s balls and dick with one hand while he works two of his own fingers into his pussy. “I’ve still got at least an hour before I have to leave, and I want you to bury me in my mattress first.” Shane stares at him for a moment, his eyes wide; surprise.

“Holy fuck where have you been?” Shane says, finally, and Ryan laughs.

“Right here, baby,” he says, standing nude in front of him and tracking Shane’s eyes as he looks at Ryan like art. He shivers, and then gets back on the bed and straddles Shane again, this time no fabric between them. He lines up his dick with the head of Shane’s and ruts forward, swallowing whatever noise Shane tries to make by pressing their lips together again. Shane’s fingers grip his ass tight enough to leave bruises and he pushes and pulls Ryan back and forth, frotting against him. Ryan’s hands are on Shane’s neck, in his hair, on his chest. He can’t stop feeling him everywhere, running his fingers over his nipples and ruffling the hair in the middle of his chest and, once, gripping the sides of Shane’s throat for a second, an experimental squeeze and earns a loud enough noise to be a clear warning. He slows down, grabbing Shane by his wrists and pinning them next to his head.

“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” Ryan asks. It comes out teasing, bratty. Shane nods. “Tell me what you wanna do,” Ryan says.

“I want to pin you down and fuck you so hard you have to call out from work because you can’t walk. I want to fuck you, Ryan, I’ve wanted to fuck you. I want to fuck you so hard that you see little cartoon birds circing around your head.”

Ryan cuts him off with his mouth again, resuming his back and forth slide along the length of Shane’s cock. They’re being way too loud, Ryan can tell even in the heat of the moment. There’s no way the guys won’t say something, but he’s willing to take all the ribbing in the world.

Shane seems to get tired of waiting and grabs Ryan by the hips again, tosses him to the side so he lands on his back more fully on the mattress. He leans over off the bed and digs around in his jeans to pull out a condom. While he leans over Ryan checks out his ass; he has plans forming. He hopes they have a second date, in fact he hopes they have a first date.

Shane says, “just to be clear. Do you want me to fuck you?” and Ryan grins. He sits up, kissing Shane again, and says “yes,” while he tears open the condom wrapper. Shane takes it and rolls it on, laying his hand in the center of Ryan’s chest and pushing him back down flat against the bed. Laid out like a sacrifice, again. Again. He keeps his eyes on Shane’s, can almost make out the reflection of himself in his pupils, and he resists the urge to close his eyes when Shane sinks two fingers into him, but gives in when he adds another on the next forward stroke. He’s soaking wet, he’s already cum twice. Shane’s face is flushed and his dick is hard and flushed and Ryan groans when he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with it. He slides forward and leans down to his elbows, his face inches from Ryan’s. They stay there, panting, for just a second, just looking at each other, and then Shane starts to move.

Ryan tosses his head back; Shane sets a quick pace right away, his hips snapping forward and his dick sinking into Ryan. He’s not even all the way in and already Ryan feels stretched out by it. He moans again, a keening cry, and then Shane pushes forward and bottoms out.

Ryan’s eyes press shut so tightly that he sees pure white. Shane starts pounding him harder, reaching down to play with his dick. Ryan cums again, soaking Shane's lap and making the noises of skin against skin more obscene. "Just fucking… give it to me," he grunts out. Shane delivers, fucking him so hard that he can't even moan, much less speak. Shane kisses him again. And again. And again.

Shane collapses down, his mouth resting against Ryan's neck, his breaths hot and panting. He's losing his rhythm, obviously close, and he bites down on Ryan's shoulder to quiet a moan. Ryan's hands reach around his back and his nails dig in. Shane pulls back, suddenly, sliding out and shaking against him.

He rolls to the side, onto his back, and after he pulls off the condom they lie there catching their breath for what feels like minutes. Ryan manages a shaky laugh, gasping and trying to figure out something to say.

“Well,” he says, pausing to laugh again. “You certainly delivered.”

Shane sighs, rolling over and putting his hand back on Ryan’s skin, on his stomach. He doesn’t say anything, and they lie there for a while until Ryan’s phone dings and he has to get up and walk on shaking legs to the shower. He makes it quick, didn’t plan on working up a sweat, and when he walks back into his room Shane is dressed and sitting on the bed. His cheeks are still flushed, a red band from ear to ear.

“You want a ride?” Shane asks while Ryan gets dressed again. He turns around to give him a look, and Shane laughs. “To work, not like that. You wore me the fuck out, man.”

They leave his room and find the living room suspiciously empty. Ryan pulls his boots back on, grabs a jacket, and walks with Shane back out into the night.

The drive is quiet, but when Shane parks outside The Jazz Ryan doesn’t get out at first. He undoes the seatbelt and turns to look at Shane -- Shane’s looking back at him, car off, unmoving. “So,” Ryan starts and Shane laughs. “That happened.”

“It did.”

“I’m glad it did. And I would like to do that and-slash-or similar things in the future.”

Shane laughs again, and Ryan echoes him. He opens the door, but hesitates. He turns back and leans in, kissing Shane. “I’ll see you around,” he says, “soon.” Shane nods. His cheeks are flushed again.

“What time do you get off?” Shane asks and Ryan shrugs.

“Next time we hang out, I’m guessing,” he says, and then steps out of the car and walks into Le Jazz Haus.

***

He doesn’t see Shane again for a few days, and when he does it’s because things have gone tits up. He gets home from work on Thursday and finds everyone in a panic; nervous energy overflowing the room and everyone just pacing around. They just stare at him, silent, fear in their eyes. He counts five pairs of terrified eyes. “Where’s Eugene?” he asks, and five pairs of eyes drop to the floor.

They don’t answer so he heads back into his room, looking around for a clue. There’s nothing out of place, though. The basket of clean laundry still waiting to be put away, the bed mussed up and unmade, Eugene’s drag clothes in a pile by the closet.

He walks back out and everyone continues to try to avoid his eye so he slams his hand down on the counter. “Tell me what’s going on,” he says. Even he can hear the fear in his voice, the uneven and shaky breaths. “Tell me so I can fix it,” he says.

Andrew walks over, drops a heavy hand on to Ryan’s shoulder. He moves him easily into the living room and sits him down in his chair. The terror is building, he’s expecting the worst, he’s so frightened that he’s shaking; if anything happened to Eugene… if he’s… he can't even think about it. “Andrew,” he says, his voice breaking, pleading, tears built up along his lashes.

“Eugene went out this afternoon and from what I understand some guys… started a fight…”

“Those assholes, those fucking cunts, started saying a bunch of homophic shit…” TJ interrupts, breaking off. Andrew takes a deep breath.

“They jumped him and he fought back, of course he did, you know Eugene. He’s a badass. But the cops showed up and of course…”

Ryan heaves a sigh, deep and bone-weary, and feels the terror bleed from him. “So he’s in jail?” he asks, hopeful in some absurd way that at least it isn’t… at least he isn’t… Andrew nods and Ryan says, “oh thank God. That's something we can deal with. Jesus, guys. Don’t fucking. Do you know what I was thinking? Do you know how scary that was? Don’t fucking pull that shit just tell me what’s tea so I can fucking deal with it.”

He feels bad for yelling, can see how upset everyone is, and he sighs. “I’m sorry. God, Jesus. Rally up, troops,” he says, standing and holding his arms out wide. The six of them gather in a group and hold on tight. “Someone get ahold of Curly and tell him to meet me there, someone call the jail and tell those bitches that if anything happens to Eugene we’ll have their asses on a platter.”

He walks back to his room and paces a few times, restless. He knows what he has to do, but the deep desire to avoid it at all costs weighs him down like chains. Still, he’s out of his element, out of his depth, and Curly can only do so much to mitigate this disaster. He needs an expert.

He pulls out his phone, and dials a number that he still knows by heart no matter how long he’s hoped to forget it, and he sits roughly on the bed while it rings.

“You’ve reached the-” Francine starts but Ryan interrupts her.

“Hey Franny, long time no see. Is uh… is the boss available by any chance?” he says. She clearly recognizes his voice, despite the years and the hormones and the drop in pitch between now and the last time they spoke. She clicks her tongue, disapproving, probably wanting to correct his informal tone, but she transfers him over anyway.

“Bergara & Son legal services, Steven speaking,” a voice says, and Ryan can’t help the hysterical chuckle that looses itself from his lungs.

“Hey, dad. It’s, it’s me. I uh…”

His dad is quiet for a long time, long enough that Ryan worries he hung up and that things are more hopeless that he thought. “Jesus,” he says eventually, “Ryan. It’s... It’s good to hear from you. Is something wrong?”

Ryan laughs, mirthless, and says, “you could say that. I uh… Is there anyway you could meet me? I need to…”

It’s stilted and awkward, just like the last times they’ve spoken in the past decade. He knows this must be just as hard on his dad as it is on him, but there’s no other option. “Of course, Ryan. Meet me at Dours, half an hour?” his dad says. Ryan agrees and then pauses. “It’s… it’s good to hear from you,” his dad says, pausing hung up on a word, “son.”

He hangs up and leaves his room, walks back out into the kitchen. Jen is standing by the coffee pot, hands him a steaming travel mug as he approaches. He leans in and kisses her cheek.

"I'm gonna head out and try to fix this mess," Ryan says. He has another call to make, needs a ride over to Dours because it's on the other end of town, the gentrified part full of rich fucks and stuffy assholes. He used to hate going there because everyone knew him, knew the family, but now he hates going there because he feels out of place in a way he hasn't in years.

Shane meets him outside, an odd tilt to his brow. “You know,” he says when Ryan climbs in and shuts the door, “I didn’t expect you to go all out on our first date. What’s dragging you out to the bougie side of town?”

Ryan would laugh, but it’s caught in his throat. Shane seems to realize something is wrong, and doesn’t push it or make more jokes. He just drives, the music quiet, and lets the silence speak for itself. When he pulls up, they just sit in the car for a while. Finally, Ryan finds his voice again.

“Thanks, dude. You don’t have to like… stick around if you don’t want to. Eugene got arrested and I’m meeting with…” he pauses, unsure what to say, “a lawyer,” he settles on. Shane just shrugs.

“I’ve got nothing else to do,” he says, “and you seem like you could use a friend right now.” He rests his hand on Ryan’s knee, a comforting weight, and Ryan thinks about what that means. A friend, a lover, whatever they are he certainly feels better with Shane around. Ryan nods, and the two of them step out of Shane’s old, shitty car and leave it sitting in a parking lot full of Porsches and Lamborghinis.

They step into the air conditioned lobby of the restaurant, startlingly out of place against the pristine marble floors and the gold-leaf art deco styling. The hostess looks them up and down, seems a second from calling security, when from behind them Ryan hears his father say, “table for three.” She looks between the three of them and sweeps her arm in an open gesture. He walks past them, and they follow, Ryan ignoring the look Shane shoots him.

Once they sit down, Ryan says, “dad, this is Shane. Shane… my dad.” Shane nods, and his dad chuckles.

“We’ve met, actually.” Ryan is surprised, but he doesn’t have time to examine it. “So tell me what’s wrong, son.”

Ryan heaves a deep sigh. “Eugene was accosted by some guys this afternoon, and they tried to gay bash him. He fought them off, but when the cops came, they arrested him. We need… I need your help, to get him out and the charges dropped, if possible.” It seems like an uphill battle but his dad is one of the most successful defense attorneys in the state. If they can’t get Gene out of this, he’ll lose his job, and they won’t make rent, and all seven of them will be back on the streets before the end of the summer.

“That it?” his dad asks, flagging a waiter over. He orders a bottle of wine, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He types up a few emails in the time it takes the bottle to arrive, and while the waiter pours three glasses Ryan ignores the lingering looks everyone is shooting at him and Shane. “Well I won’t be able to get in to see anyone until later this afternoon, but this should be a piece of cake. Speaking of cake, it’s not too early for dessert is it? You two hungry?” Ryan shrugs his shoulders, out of sorts and out of place and his stomach too full up of anxiety to feel hungry. He drinks down his first glass of wine and reaches for the bottle to pour another instead of answering. “Alright then. While we wait. How have you been Shane? Keeping out of trouble?” Shane nods.

“I got a job and a place with a few roommates, keeping my nose down.” Shane answers. It’s throwing Ryan for a loop, a disjointed feeling that has him sucking down the second glass of wine. Shane knows his dad, knew his dad before he knew him. Shane is talking to his dad more comfortably than Ryan has been able to since he was twelve. He feels like he’s in some bizarre dream. Under the table, Shane again grabs Ryan’s knee and holds it there like an anchor; he feels less adrift, but no less uncomfortable.

“And how are things going, Ryan?” his dad asks eventually, glancing up from his phone after sending another email. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.

“Fine I guess,” he says, awkwardly. Shane offers, “Ryan got a promotion,” and his dad grins. It reminds him of a shark’s mouth, too full of pristine white teeth.

“That’s great, kid. I’m glad to hear it. You thought about going back to school?” he says and Ryan groans.

“Dad…” he starts but he’s interrupted. “Now Ryan I don’t mean anything by it. You’ve just always been too smart for your own good. I’d hate to see you let all those brains go to waste working for pennies. You know,” he says, looking back to Shane, “Ryan here was on track to join the firm.” Ryan crosses his arms, sulking. “He got into Law school on his first try, but turned it down. Wanted to study… what was it, literature?” Ryan rolls his eyes, but nods. “She would have been great at that too, always reading ahead of the class… even in kindergarten,” Ryan flinches, Shane’s fingers tighten on his leg. “Sorry, son,” his dad says, realizing his mistake. “He would have been great. Teaching, maybe. Could have been a hell of a lawyer, though.”

“Yeah well, I was always good at arguing. Have you heard back yet?” Ryan asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He can feel people’s eyes on him, glances around and watches rich eyes snap back to their plates as he does.

“Calm down, Ryan. Things like this take time. Still haven’t learned any patience I see.” Ryan keeps his eyes trained down, swallowing the dregs of his wine and then reaching for Shane’s untouched glass.

“I’m gonna get some air,” he says, standing up abruptly. As he rushes toward the door he can hear Shane say something to his dad and his footsteps following. His boots sound like cannon blasts against the marble; his heart thudding in his ears is even louder than that. The sunlight hits him and he walks down the block a bit, stopping on the corner and leaning bodily against the smooth brick wall of the building. Shane stands next to him, quiet. “You got any cigs?” Ryan asks, and Shane nods, pulling one out and lighting it before handing it over.

“You’re obviously not alright so I won’t ask that, but is there anything I can do?” he says. Ryan shrugs roughly. Shane reaches out and pulls him into a hug, presses his lips down on the crown of his head. “I get it, it’s alright.”

Ryan sighs, leaning in and resting his face against Shane’s chest. His shirt is soft and worn, holes all along the neckline; he smells like chai, a little, like he’d had tea right before Ryan called; he smells like aftershave and cinnamon and cardamom and sweet spicy things. Ryan pulls back, hesitantly, and hands the cigarette back over.

“Alright boys, you ready to see this old man get to work?” his dad says, standing there suddenly. Shane steps back and his arms drop to his sides. Ryan nods, meeting his father’s fierce gaze, and they head toward the jail, back downtown and out of the rich neighborhood that makes Ryan itch.

Shane’s car is dead quiet on the way back.

***

The jail clearly makes Shane uncomfortable -- he pauses outside and sucks on a deep breath. Ryan finds his hand and grabs it, gives it a quick squeeze. He's always been better at taking care of others than himself, so he swallows his anxiety and focuses on Shane. He still hasn't asked what he got in trouble for. or why he knows his dad, but he can do the math and make guesses. The guy at the counter is intimidating, but grins when he sees them. "Howdy, Steve," he says, "you here on business?" He says it like a joke. His dad isn't smiling. "I need to see a Mr. Eugene Lee Yang," he says. The guard shrugs and waves him back, pressing a button that unlocks the door with a loud buzz. As he walks in Curly walks out, nodding as he passes.

"Thank the lord, maybe now these jerks will listen and _do their fucking jobs,_" Curly says. tossing the comment behind him.

He approaches the two of them. "How is he?" Ryan asks. Curly just shrugs.

“You know Eugene,” he says. “He’s pissed off and uncooperative and making things worse. But now that Steve’s here it should be fine. You really called in the calvary.” He chuckles, weakly, but Ryan can’t find humor in the situation at all, won’t until he has Gene back.

He sighs, grabbing his mug and taking a big gulp of the tepid coffee. “You got any aspirin?” he asks and Curly nods. He joins them on the bench and introduces himself to Shane while digging around in his bag.

Ryan takes the pills with a shy smile, and downs them with the rest of his coffee. He’s halfway through the week, a few days left before his next T dose, and the lower levels in his system had him on edge anyway. He can hardly think through the pounding in his head. He knows he’ll have a long wait, and tries to settle back into the seat and find some comfort in the fact that if anyone can get them out of this, if anyone can help them, despite all of their differences it’s his father.

He leans his head against Shane’s shoulder, and he wraps his arm around him, pulling him close. Curly gives him a look, but he doesn’t have the energy to explain. He wouldn’t even know what to say if he could explain; they’re friends, they’re more than friends, they’ve hardly talked yet seem so close it frightens him. He wants this, more than anything in a long time, and the desire blooming bright in his chest seems, at times, too heavy to hold. He thinks about when he first learned about being transgender, when he learned the word to put to the pain he felt his whole life; dysphoria. Literally, it translates to ‘unable to bear’.

The door buzzes again, maybe an hour later, and Steven Bergara struts out like a rooster; like the cat who got the cream. Behind him is a bruised up, clearly pissed, Eugene. Ryan jumps to his feet, crossing the room and walking straight past his dad and pulling Eugene as close as he can, holding him there in the lobby like he’s just returned from war.

“Christ, babe, are you okay?” he says, his lips pressed against the side of Eugene’s head behind his ear.

“Yeah, I’m fine. What do I look like, I’m new here?” he says, chuckling. Ryan still can’t laugh, can’t do anything but hold him close and let the tears he’s held back all afternoon fall, finally, breathing shakily against his best friend.

When he lets go he turns. Curly and his dad are talking by the door, in hushed voices, and he watches as his dad hands Curly a card. Shane’s still on the bench, his eyes on the tiled floor. He can’t read him at all, but his dad is heading out the door and he follows him out into the afternoon.

“Dad,” he says, and Steve turns. “Thanks, seriously. You… I’m glad I can count on you. I know I haven’t been…” his thoughts are only half formed but his dad steps forward and pulls him into a hug.

“You know, Ryan. Whatever it is you think you haven’t been, you’re wrong. I love you, son. I might not understand all of your choices, I might not always understand you, but I love you. Come home sometime,” he says, his strong hands on Ryan’s shoulders. “Stop by, see your mother. I know you talk to Jake but… we miss you, kid.”

Ryan nods, and his dad reaches up with the soft sleeve of his expensive button up shirt, and wipes tears from his eyes. It leaves a black stain of eyeliner on the starched white cuff, but his dad doesn’t seem to notice. He laughs, shakily. “I will,” he says, “and I love you too.”

***

Outside of his apartment, Eugene climbs out of the back seat and pauses, only for a moment, before walking in the door and toward the stairs.

Shane doesn’t say anything for a while, just lets out a long low breath that whistles between his teeth. Ryan is quiet too, the two of them sitting in the car. He feels wrung out, exhausted. He still has to work tonight, as much as he doesn’t want to.

“Thanks,” he says but Shane waves it off.

“Of course, Ryan,” he says. “What are friends for?” Ryan can’t tell, might have imagined it, but the weight that Shane put on the word ‘friends’ sticks with him; it tugged the corners of Shane’s catlike devilish smile downward. “I’m glad you’ve got Eugene back.”

“Shane,” he says but Shane shrugs. “No, listen. I think you have the wrong idea.”

“You two seem close, is all. I wouldn’t want to step on any toes--”

“Shut up! Listen. Eugene and I are close, but it’s not. Come on, dude.” He doesn’t know what to say; he doesn’t know. He never does. This, he thinks, is why he couldn’t have been a lawyer. He gets too lost in the emotions of it all and can’t fight through to the pearl of logic.

“It’s fine, Ryan. We hooked up and it was fun. I guess I just… thought…” Ryan groans, pressing his hands against his temples. He’s running out of time, has to get ready, has too much to do. This is important though. The thought of screwing this up; now there’s something he cannot bear.

“I don’t know what to say, so I won’t say anything. But I need you to listen to me anyway.” He takes in a deep breath, tries to calm his racing heart. “_When you grab ahold of me, Tell me that I’ll never be set free..._” his voice is steady, more so than his pulse, and his hands are sweaty and shaking against his knees as he sings. “_I’m a parasite, Creep and crawl I step into the night… Two pints of booze, Tell me are you a badfish too. Ain’t got no money to spend, I hope this night will never end,_” he pauses again. He can’t look over, can’t bear to see Shane’s expression. “_Lord knows I’m weak, Won’t somebody get me off of this reef..._”

He drifts off, losing his courage and just staring down at his hands where they sit useless in his lap. Shane reaches over, though, and tugs on his chin to angle his face over. He looks so incredibly fond, so amused and at ease that it shocks a sigh from Ryan. “Did you just tell me your feelings through song… and choose _Badfish_ by fucking Sublime to do it with?” Shane asks. Ryan nods and Shane laughs, deep and joyful, and then tugs Ryan forward to press their lips together.

“Baby, I’m a badfish too,” Shane says when they pull apart. Ryan rolls his eyes, says, “oh my God I’m never living this down,” under his breath and Shane chuckles. “Not a chance,” he says, and Ryan shuts him up by kissing him again.

***

Fall. The weather isn't much different, but it's his favourite time of year anyway. Ryan walks up the stairs to the apartment, thinking about all the things that have happened in the last few months. As he walks up to the door, he can hear music dancing through the air and laughter on the other side. Home, family, love. Things he did not think he deserved. But it's here now, like the warm wind and the Halloween decorations taped to the door. It's here, it's home, it's love. And it's his.

He opens the door, finally, and grins. Shane is on the couch, playing his guitar. Andrew and Steven and Eugene are singing along, laughing and belting out the words to Action Cat. Ryan laughs and they pause, looking over at him.

"Welcome home, daddy," Andrew says. Steven laughs, slapping his arm.

Ryan kicks off his boots inside the door, bumping it closed with his hip. He's got an armful of groceries that he dumps on the counter; it can wait. He's got an important letter in his pocket he hasn't opened yet; it can wait.

He walks into the room and blows kisses to Andrew. The other three scoff, put out. "Back it up, grandpa," Steven teases, "this is my man. You've got your own boyfriend."

He does, and so he collapses to lay across Shane's lap; his legs hanging off one arm of the chair and his head on the other. Shane leans down to kiss his forehead. And it's all an orchard, full of life.

Shane adjusts his position, moving his guitar out of the way and shifting Ryan around until he can hold it proper again. He starts strumming, some familiar chords, and he looks Ryan in the eye. "_When you grab ahold of me…_" he starts singing, softly. Ryan joins him, taking the lead while Shane shifts into harmony on instinct. "_Tell me that I'll never be set free._"

They play and laugh, and later Ryan will make dinner, and later still he’ll open the letter in his pocket, and maybe after that he’ll kiss Shane until he can’t breathe. For now, he’s home and he’s happy.

“Fuck it,” he says suddenly. “You idiots wanna start a band?"

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this I love you.
> 
> Thank you so much! Thanks AGAIN to everyone mentioned at the top.
> 
> Music referenced:  
-Mirror Reaper is an album by Bell Witch
> 
> -Silverchair, Band of Skulls, The Horrors, Misfits, Silversun Pickups, and Thrice are all awesome bands.
> 
> -Talking Heads is one of the best bands ever, and Little Creatures is my favourite of their albums.
> 
> -Brody Dalle is the lead singer of The Distillers (and Spinnerette), Coral Fang is one of their albums. The first two tracks are Drain the Blood and Dismantle Me!
> 
> -The song Eugene (Cheyenne Pepper) performs to is Million Years by Nico Vega
> 
> -The Mars Volta was a big inspiration, specifically their album Amputecture. The song Ryan is singing along to is Tetragrammaton.
> 
> -Earth is an awesome band. Their album The Bees Made Honey In The Lion’s Skull inspired this entire fic.
> 
> -Badfish is a song by Sublime. It is very romantic.
> 
> -Action Cat is a song by Gerard Way from his solo album.


End file.
